Humble interactions with Sona
by Farnbil
Summary: An unsure and desperate summoner seeks a new champion to add to his roster. With the influence he accumulated, the summoner efforts to recruit Sona. What follows is a journey of self discovery and an exchange of condolences.
1. The concert

Influence Point Spending: Sona

I must admit that summoning is not a strength of mine. In fact, I'm quite bad at it. It was a miracle I persisted playing past the tenth level. Perhaps not a miracle-more of an exhibition of the incredible stubborn baseness of my own mind. So when I was informed that my influence had reached the third tier in terms of pointage I was intimidated with the choices presented to me. With a jarring experience interviewing Singed some time before, I had questions about whether I should even be pursuing my summoning career at all on top of keeping my sanity. One could equate that period to a mid-life crisis. I felt detached and incompetent, giving up on everything else except summoning in a savage effort to prove myself. And while interacting with Singed produced splendid results on the battlefield I felt like he was becoming more dominant. More and more I felt helpless in the face of my fellow summoners and to the mad chemist. Thankfully I came into contact with a supportive clique of summoners who recommended I acquire the services of a support champion and take some steps back from summoning corrosive personalities like Singed for a while. His nearly stripped me of empathy, nearly drained me of the capacity to even care of my own safety, let alone that of others. That is the mind of a mass murderer.

The Demacian concert hall stood as a testament to just who 'big brother' was in the contest of culture. I traveled there by airship with a trio of summoners from Piltover. The Institute of Justice paid much of the expense for the trip, as we were on official League business. Inside the domed building every piece of architecture seemed to crush you down with their weight. Especially when sitting in those small theatre seats, the scale of the place looked as if it were to come at you like the bottom of a large drop, which made for good acoustics. That night belonged to Sona the Maven of the Strings, a popular champion which I had not been exposed to at all until then. The Institute must have made much effort in securing the spots for me and the other summoners and I must thank them along with my friends who recommended the trip. They gave me a gift to remember.

The lamps dimmed, and the ambient noise ceased. On the stage I saw some gaseous blue form slowly make its way from the side, marked with streaks of gold. Her face was bold, enticing, yet soft and delicate. Forgive me for indulging in this language, but for a presence like Sona's what else could do justice? Everything about her is iridescent and flowing. Awe inspiring, heart stopping, etcetera, etcetera. Don't take this as feelings for her. I was nothing more than infatuated, but deeply so at the time. So the champion appeared on stage, playing at the strings of my heart before she even started her performance. Everyone else must have felt something like that at one point when going to her concerts-but that magic, it is so alien to me! Is it of the nature born in our animal blood that she manipulates, or a lustrous mineral that drives men to climb mountains and conquer the seas? That is the question of music, to me at least.

I heard that she improvised the whole show that night, but it sure didn't feel like it. I use the word 'feel' because 'sound' is only part of the experience. Sona plays an 'etwahl', a large stringed instrument, a bridge of strings with no frets, a beautiful instrument in its own right. She started out with a contemplative tone. The etwahl reads off the exposition to an incoming stream of music. My mind was gently prodded into a state of intrigue. Then she opened a trapdoor under my feet with a single deep and resounding chord. The progression that followed left me battered, thrown out of a strange home she only just showed me. Stuttering notes slashed at my arms and legs with a tingling sensation, leaving me helpless to react mentally. After a bit of this, a tune started to form, hesitant and hopeful. She led me up a ramp, slowly but surely and…picking up speed. Dissonance began to burst outward from within the structure. Defiance, rage, desperation, I remember gripping the armrest and sweating profusely at this point. And then suddenly it dropped, very loudly, on a very deliberate and booming arpeggio. Laying on the ground, broken, I was lifted by a misty wave of impressionist color, just inches off the ground. The last notes trailed off like light does in a thick fog. And then silence settled into the architecture, a jarring movement in its own right. I took in the air. Needless to say we applauded with great fervor.

In a room backstage the four of us summoners were to have an audience with the maven herself. We were nothing short of excited. While waiting for Sona to appear, I learned from one of my compatriots that he was learning how to play the etwahl himself. I still wonder-to what end? The door opened, and there she was, standing as one of her promotional posters framed on the wall and scaled to life-size. I mentioned earlier how smitten I was sitting in the audience. In person that changed into an enveloping cloud of uplifting enchantment. My heart was racing, which would be foreign to my condition in the time before coming to Sona's concert. Floating behind her as she walked into the room was her etwahl, plucking idle notes that rippled through us. We told her about our intent, how we wished to be able to summon her outside of "free weeks" and of the interview required to develop trust between the two parties. Remember that the summoner is the one being judged in this instance.

She sat so immaculate on that stool. I could be satisfied just by being in the same space to marvel her. However, the conversation didn't amount to much because of her stoic silence that persisted the entire time we were there. Sona never uttered a single word as she sort of took in all our voices, reading our language like sheet music (if you look at it that way). In the back of my head I could feel an unpleasant tinge of guilt, wondering if we by our own fault had stifled her being under us.

I was surprised to learn that she is mute. Apparently that was news only to me, for I had mistaken her initial silence for an attempt at cordiality. What she expressed in her performance-that was her true voice. And I bet that was her story as well. But what of me, who can say so much yet fall short of moving a leaf? The thought of my words being used by another-that idea somehow came to mind when recalling Sona's performance. It troubles me greatly. We established dates for our individual meetings. My interview will occur next week. The summoners and I expressed how we were moved by her music. With a warm smile, the League champion shook our hands as we departed. Ackwardly, I gave her a thumbs-up as I walked out of the door. There was a very slight bewilderment on her face as I ran to catch up with the others.

Now I must measure myself. Am I good enough for her? Am I good enough for anyone?


	2. The Snowdown and the Interview

I haven't uttered a word in three days since I communed with Sona. It's sometimes painful yet liberating at the same time. Conversations are such treasures-the exchange of ideas between two bodies is a ritual I exercised frequently on and off the fields of justice. Communication between your teammates is vital to success in any team endeavor (especially League matches). However, my first real exchange with Sona made me reevaluate the importance of speech in our civilized Valoran.

Being audience to Sona in the Institute of War is a big deal. As a musician first and foremost her visits to the Institute of War are sporadic and infrequent. There was much fanfare on her arrival, and rumors of a performance were spread around the building. I watched among a large crowd as she glided through the main entrance in a distinctively festive red cloak. The champions Karma and Swain were present for a small welcoming celebration (riding the wave of Snowdown festivities still in full swing). Among the whirring noise of conversation and reverie, the alienating effect of muteness was most uncomfortable. Especially with such personalities like the champions and celebrity summoners dominating the scene I felt passed over like furniture. Perhaps if I ran around flinging tables over my head I could have started a pleasant conversation with someone while holding back fits of maniacal laughter. Trade one set of shackles for another.

When Sona got on the stage at the end of the entrance hall, everything slowed to a stop. The rumors were true! I was so elated my heart skipped a beat (followed by an aching chest pain-don't eat too much during the holidays!) We recognized the song as a familiar Wintersday tune. 'The glitter of snow" is a Freljordian love song known by most of Valoran. It goes something like this:

In the night is a chill that cuts deep through my skin as I call for a sign of love that burns within.

Now the earth spins a death that no lover should know, time goes on, and my love is lost to the storm.

Climbing high on a mountaintop, in time to see the sun. Left behind is a world where my words failed to show my heart.

This voice will cry in pain as I stand grasping for your hand. But no sound will heal my hidden wounds deep inside.

And now, while I gaze at the snow, I see your eyes twinkling brighter than stars. I'm yearning for warmth.

Where, where on this callous earth is your embrace? How can I tell you I love you?

About halfway through the audience began to sing along. I can't remember if I did so as well. What I do remember distinctly, if anything was to become ingrained into my memory of that evening, was a single tear on Sona's smiling face. In a sort of irony, have we provided her with a voice with which she could speak to us? And did I fall right in with the rest? Or is it just me getting used to singing again?

Later in the week I got some of my answers straight from Sona herself.

The chamber is dimly lit in a familiar purple-bluish shade. In the center of the room are two seats sitting back to back. Miscelaneous plaques and notices can be read for reference if one were to switch on a few more lamps. They are purposely left dark to increase concentration. Summoners and champions use these rooms for practicing summoning magic in a safe environment. That is a relative tern, for particularly volatile champions must be restrained in some way or another. We were fairly sure Sona wouldn't mean any danger. And to a slight hint of disheartenment from me, we were right. Outside the room Sona and I exchanged smiles. I felt no need to explain the procedure again-she had her time with another summoner some days before and the process is straightforward enough. Caught off guard by my silence, the musician raised an eyebrow offering a queue for me to start talking peasantries. I coughed nervously and remembered why I was there. Trying to be prompt, I stuttered something like "If you're ready, Ms. Buvelle." Sounded like an absolute tool there. Still, Sona was human after all and to my relief she nodded her head in confirmation. Fog is the stuff clouds are made of. Up close, the sun shines through better.

We both sat on the two stone seats facing back to back. Looking over my shoulder I noticed that same perfect posture from the concert. I straightened my back and shoulders. It felt good, empowering. Try working on your posture sometime, reader. With this, I concentrated on my magic. While incantations are part of the manual, verbalizing them only serve to help one focus. It never worked for me-I always had trouble articulating them. In no time I had a C-Ball formed between my palms (C is jargon for 'Client') swirling with blue energy. And then with a great deal of mental effort I sent out a wave of magic across the room. With that, I sent out a part of my own being. When a summoner does this, they are briefly at the mercy of any mind in the general area as they can 'catch the wave' for themselves. Sona grasped it with a surprising eagerness. This business I assumed was so mundane to her, as I supposed was with any champion of the League. At this point I precariously started to lose my physical self. Talk to any summoner about out-of-body experiences because they can describe it better than I can. As I entered Sona's mind I expected pain. After summoning Singed so many times the sensation of scarred flesh is familiar. However, this experience was something very, very alien.

I was assaulted with an enveloping awareness of sound. What came at me first was Sona's heartbeat. Rhythmically her body acted as a metronome to a softer beat, washing in and out like waves on a beach. The walls reverberated everything, and it seems that Sona can see it happening! As heat distorts light, so does sound distort the still air. I tried to identify that beat which ticked so harmoniously with hers. It was water, a thick liquid, passing through something muffled and coarse. And then I heard a voice-her voice! Strong, airy, powerful yet gentle it was. What she said comforted me overall, yet unsettled my nerves with a haunting familiarity.

"I hear you."

Thumping now was the sound that played alongside Sona's heartbeat. I sensed she was grasping something warm and coarse. It was my own limp hand, pulsing with assurance.


	3. The Performance

And so it was that I joined countless other summoners who can call Sona their own. Not in a possessive fashion-that would be demeaning. I can write another one thousand words about her beauty, her grace. But I must not forget where my obligations lie. The Institute of War is such a fanciful place. Deciding the fate of nations on the line of gladiatorial battles looks like a very Utopian, very dystopian concept that I support with my feet on the ground. War is a nightmare, a ball-gag forced on the people while they are deafened by a horrid dissonance, a very tired song and dance. The champions who volunteered to be a part of this I must commend for their inhuman conviction. Takes at least that much to surrender yourself to this punishment. Among this league of legends here is a musician. And she's mute! Who has time to appreciate music during battle? Who has time to sing, let alone have the voice to sing while it's not talking? Or explaining? Laughing, joking, ordering, pleading, QUARRELING, PROMISING! NOISE! ALL NOISE NOISE NOISE ALL SPOT ON TIMING WITH A BLOODIED TUNING FORK ALL WAITING FOR AN EXCUSE TO END IT ALL! Damn it all! Why was it all fine and dandy just days ago? To leave me behind to hang myself before I have to hear it all! But what do I fill this void with?

She has no voice, and she wears her blue hair in ponytails to match her sky blue dress. Every day the noise builds on her as it does to all of us. And a few days ago we went together to Summoner's Rift to breathe.

I entered Sona's mind soaked in past tears, a mangy helpless thing. That time she took me in with a great deal of hesitation. She picked me up and shook me off, murmuring something into my head with her etwahl. The anticipation was nerve wrecking. I stood over my C-Ball concentrating with four other summoners in the Institute, while Sona and the other participating champions arrived to Summoner's Rift in rings of blue light. As soon as she touched down, her fingers ran across the strings on her instrument. She started an idle melody, a song of noble strength which honed our senses. On our blue glowing platform was the silent armordillo Rammus, the indomitable iron man Mordekaiser, the large and intoxicated Gragas, the instinctual voidling Kog'maw, and Sona. She closed her eyes and sighed contently. Quickly gearing up, everyone headed out to their lanes. A pang of fear froze me for a moment while Sona floated on, a fear for her well being, a dangerous sympathy. As I shivered in this panicky fit, Sona reached out with her mind and grasped my hand in the same manner as before. Like setting time on a metronome, she stilled my pulse with hers. With hands like those, everything is an instrument that can be tuned.

Kog'maw's summoner lengthened his leash, and the void creature merrily followed behind Sona with what looked like a smile. And then we heard the most perculiar thing to escape the mouth of the void-he began to sing! Yes, the mouth of the abyss began to gurgle out notes alongside Sona's song as we walked together. "Laaa la la la! Largh garr gaah!" No audience could be more heartwarming to perform for. Sona led him along as she played. Kog'maw began to sing quieter as we reached the outermost turret, turning into a content humming as the clock ran down seconds. Briefly exiting Sona's mind, I turned to my teammate next to me and got a glance at his face. The summoner was blinking sharply as if something were in his eyes. They were bloodshot-probably from lack of sleep. Behind us came the blue minions marching without a sound. They clashed with the purple minions up ahead. We could see a grizzled walnut of a man emerging from the fog of war, a soft talking gunslinger named Graves. Kog'maw eagerly began to spit at the purple minions, felling them one by one as he was biddened by his summoner. I was obligated to simply wait for an opprotunity to strike at our opponents. Graves fired a buckshot round at us-there was a distinct blast of sound which distorted our vision. It caught on Sona's arm and on her instrument. The pain was sobering, yet not acute. Sona's face didn't chage one bit while I frowned in concentration.

We responded by forcefully strumming a chord on the etwahl. Her mind guided me through this maneuver, and I yeilded quietly. Dialogue would put us off timing and serve no end. A cone of blue magic honed in on Graves, and he staggered backwards. Sona took this opening and fired a high note that pierced his gut, causing him to bleed. His summoner backed off while Graves growled to himself. At first I thought this power was unreal. To inflict that much damage at such an early point in the match astounded me. Other summoners tell me that this ability is a major strength of hers and advise me to use it frequently. But its potency falls off later as the other champions gain power, so one must abuse this advantage early.

How fitting! It is always said that actions speak louder than words. Graves was escorted by Soraka, a pious mystic with an extensive knowledge of healing magic. Her summoner liberally casted these spells on Graves to keep him standing. It seemed that their endurance would win out against us. Thankfully Kog'maw had brought healing potions to keep himself healthy (and to quench his thirst). We managed to push them back to their own turret, securing our small victory in the earlygame. Both of us teleported back to the summoning platform to recover and prepare. Kog'maw idley bobbed his head to Sona's envigorating tune. I still wonder why such a being could react in such a way. We sensed his own heartbeat keeping time to a different drummer. He is a slave to instinct-yet the creature sings and dances. Is this an exertion of Sona's enchantments? Or does that same instinct drive him to take pleasure from her song?

Our dominence was felt sorely by the other team, appreciated by our allies. Then the beat changed. Baron had emerged from his slumber in the river, and both teams were eager to fell it and gain his power. As everyone grouped up in the forest, a flurry of alerts and talking took shape. Earlier Mordekaiser's summoner and that of Gragas began to spout insults to eachother. The former got royally irritated that the latter had let Gragas die one too many times. Sona expressed her annoyance through her face, and played louder in a vain attempt to calm them. They started to yell over her. While this was going on, Mordekaiser himself boomed in an echoing voice so that everyone heard. "Stop bickering like fools! Let us strike in tune to Sona's music and not your cacophanous squacking!" His will subdued the two summoners like a fist. Grabbing them by the neck with his voice, he shook them violently and said menacingly "We have the advantage! You will not squander our victory by making our ears bleed!" Sona retreated backwards, hesitant. She stopped playing.

For the first time in the entire match, there was total silence. "Now...if you please my dear Sona, let us shred." Mordekaiser said, as if he expected us to find the keys and emerge from our paralysis that quickly. Sona and I did so, thankful for his strength. Metal is receptive to sound, and we felt his entire body resonate with music. He gave it a deep and oppressive accent. Sona smiled as she and Mordekaiser walked side by side towards Baron's nest-occupied already by the other team. I caught a deep sense of companionship between them, although I do not know how deep. It translated well into the final battle of the match. I directed her behind Mordekaiser as we dove in headfirst to strike the final blow against the giant worm. Kog'maw and his summoner expertly did so with a single blast of his 'Bio-arcane barrage' technique. With an absolute power flowing through us, we turned to the enemy and engaged. A parental side of us elated when Kog'maw proceeded to mercilessly pelt all of them with his caustic spittle. Mordekaiser lumbered about, practically executing each champion one by one with his gigantic metal mace. We scored a total wipe, an 'ace', in that battle. And with that the match was won in a quick stroke afterwards.

I had a brief moment to thank Sona before we broke the link, in words this time. There will be another concert later in the month, and I'd like to meet her again, one more time, just to make sure I'm not dreaming.


	4. The Lunar Revel

The Lunar Revel

Everything looked up that night. To every eye that cared to see it was a clear sky. Stronger than ale, intoxicating. While the Institute celebrated the Lunar Revel on the mainland, dozens of summoners like me made the long trip to Ionia to immerse ourselves in an authentic experience. We made it to the coast by airship, and then hopped on a commerce vessel to cross the sea. A tailwind backed us the entire journey, cutting travel time by nearly half-turning a week long voyage into a three day sail. Out there the stars envelope your being. I climbed up the mast and saw them all close in. I should have jumped to catch one at random, ask it to speak to me in the absence of its friends. What would happen if I had taken it along with me to Ionia? We could have sat under the full moon and be we could be full with it. Then I would release the star; let it join all the others in the night sky while it shines brighter than before. Perhaps that one star would ignite other stars nearby and begin a chain reaction, so that one could see the entire population of stars. Sailors could navigate even during the day. Those lost and world-weary could always find their bearings when blinded by a searing truth.

The Serene Gardens is a sprawling complex of carefully pruned bushes, gnarling trees, contemplative stonework, and the most admirable woodwork I've ever seen. Every piece in that place beckons you to examine the narrow intricacies through a spyglass, to isolate your awareness and suck you in for hours. The snow reflected the red hue of the lamps so that it looked like old parchment On the edge of the gardens were vendors selling food along with miscellaneous merchandise like antique weapons and enchanted novelty toys. But the magic was staring down from above us as the moon shone right above the Great Tree-a gigantic cherry blossom tree whose bare branches were lit up by lanterns. The summoner from Piltover, still learning the etwahl, walked with me as both of us shuffled through a large crowd around the tree. It sat in the center of an open circle, next to a low red building which hosted a stage. Constant erformances were lighting up the night more than the lanterns. Right when the moon's arc was to cross directly over the tree, there would be a finale, a special guest. Sona is arguably the face of the lunar revel with her traditional red dress and natural brown hair. She was half the reason I sailed to Ionia, the other half being the snow.

We encountered a big cast iron bell in the gardens, or it encountered us. It was stout and cylindrical, housed under an ominous wooden roof. Even in the still winter air I could feel it vibrating eerily. Being the inquisitive fool I am, I tapped a fist on it. A deep and resounding ring penetrated me as if retaliating against my idle tampering with a savage blow. And that is when I collapsed.

The Serene Garden is not a bad place to fall asleep in. However, going into a short blackout does not feel good anywhere. Knocked out by the ring of a bell! This should be funny in retrospect, and in a crude sense of slapstick it is. But let me show you the nightmare.

It took place in the Demacian concert hall where I first saw Sona. I was sitting in the frontmost seat. Everything was darkened by something more powerful than an absence of light. The place was afflicted with an overbearing toxicity. Onstage was Mordekaiser, his glowing red eyes and noble stance pinning me down with fear. On his shoulder was the gigantic metal mace. His voice came out slow and with a great deal of cruel sadism.

"Suffer, then die."

Without my knowing, Singed was next to me the entire time. He laid a hand on my chest as a syringe sunk into me. I started to convulse violently, my skin began to burn.

"You will not take him from me." Singed snarled in response to the intimidating Mordekaiser behind him. "This world must be silenced. We must fill their lungs so they will stop screaming at us. I want quiet!"

Mordekaiser quickly raised his free hand. A spiked metal mace like the one he wielded rose up from the ground and smashed into Singed from under his legs. The chemist let go of the syringe as he was engulfed in metal shards. He wailed in agony while writhing on the ground. In the same tone as before, Mordekaiser repeated hauntingly to me "You will suffer, then die." A sanguine red fog enveloped my head and my eyes rolled back in pain. "You will suffer, then die…" As he trailed off, my vision blackened. Slowly the pain died out, so thoroughly that the only sense of physical self left was in my hearing. It was that ringing you get in your ears when the brain has nothing to listen to.

The melody was slow to come. It was mournful, simple and unadorned. The notes tell you not to weep, but just wait and look on. I felt like I was being lifted out of a hole as the song only lasted for about a minute. When it ended, Mordekaiser finished his last statement. "Die…" Suddenly I was thrust upward into a chilling wind.

"And be reborn."

I woke up on a grassy patch in the garden, my face in contact with snow. Why not in a sick-bed? Was nobody there ever bothered to notice a guy who got knocked out for as long as I was? With this in mind I sat up and discovered I was wrong. The summoner learning the etwahl grabbed my hand and checked my pulse. He stared at me with a worried frown on his face, then turned to a man behind him and said something. Together they helped me up on my feet as another pair of hands dusted off the snow on my back. All I could do was think of a logical explanation for how I collapsed. Was it something I ate? That bun vendor from earlier looked pretty suspicious, I could tell in his mustache. No man with a family to provide for would ever be caught dead wearing his mustache. I looked to my left and saw the bun vendor hoisting my arm over his shoulder. He smiled when I looked at him, saying "How much did you drink? The alcohol is pretty strong here, too much to handle for most tourists."

In a half dazed state I asked how long I was out. The summoner spoke. "For a while. Maybe three hours. We couldn't wake you up at all, so Bing and I hauled you out here to see if this would work."

Three hours? That killed me. We missed Sona's performance! The trip was ruined! And I had to bring back that horrible nightmare to! At least I learned the vendor's name. I thanked them both sincerely. "Not just us. Take a look behind you." said Bing, motioning his head.

Sona stood there smiling, her red robe speckled with white snow. The etwahl floated before her as she laid both her hands on it. Our eyes were locked. It's that intimate stare which most people try to avoid. It clobbered my chest and knocked the breath out of my lungs. This is a hook. One can cast it out into the sea and hope for a bite. She caught the three of us together that night. I smiled back.

Not since the first time I met her in person did I ever hear her voice. So when she spoke to me in that untainted voice of hers I listened intently. Her mouth did not move.

"I felt the pain you were going through, yet you were silent inside. Don't be afraid to speak, for you are not alone. Express your love to others. Speak through them like you did through me. With no pride to shelter you, with no anger to raise your voice, no fear of fear or rejection to stop you. Nothing else, not I, not them, no magic in this world will ever own you again."

I stepped forward. I had so many things to say, yet no words that I could ever conjure up to do it. So instead of offering a thank you or some profound something to tie our exchange together, I cried. I cried for thrusting myself into a sea of talk, going out into the storm with only a parting wave to my friends before I nearly sunk. I cried for all the stars I dropped and let die in the distant past. I cried for the people who yell at everything, drowning out every conceivable form of voice that could calm them. Drained of strength, I fell into Sona's arms. Her hands embraced my head, and I felt her pulse again through her chest. The etwahl floated beside us and plucked out a tune. It was the same one from my dream, picked out of my brain by Sona's delicate hands, and it repeated for a long while. Gradually I regained my senses.

I slowly looked back up to her eyes again with my own pitiful face, lined with tears. This was supposed to be a professional relationship? Romance like this is mundane to her, I hope. Many summoners need this. Lots of champions in the League can do what Sona did for me.

I turned around to face the etwahl playing summoner behind me. He looked fatigued, so I said we should all enjoy the full moon that night before it's gone. Turns out we had the best view of it right where we were, so we all sat down and bathed in the pale light.

We were free to say whatever we wanted; I could have tried to coax Sona to speak again so that everyone else could hear. But the snow was already open and content.


	5. Cantata

Cantata

I thought this attraction was beyond infatuation. Even though our relationship is intimate, such closeness is only part of the job. Nothing more. Even though we open ourselves completely to each other on the playing field, all of a sudden I feel further from her than ever before. It seems I have been exhausted of substance. Things are changing, and it's shown how I've overstayed my welcome.

My own incompetence in summoning is surfacing itself again. Mistakes are being made that shouldn't happen. I'm falling into traps, missing the cues, shutting down. Death on the field is not something to panic about, but for the first time in my entire career I felt a part of me die every time I let Sona fall. The pain, the loss of consciousness, a sheer violent destruction of thought and of the senses. And then silence. My own voices come in to taunt me, how I let her die without reason. She can't be to blame, her hand only guides the music. No amount of her condolence can overcome that dread of slipping again. I must be the first person in her career to say that I don't want to hear her again.

These are my problems. I've had enough of her hand-holding. Tired of running repeatedly into my wall. That's what this relationship is. She having to deal with me injuring her through neglect and stupidity. It's time I give up. No use in causing both of us further harm. This means I won't be able to share thoughts with her anymore. But she'd be better off not consorting with an utter dimwit like myself. Not just stupid, stupid and hopelessly EMPTY. What she said in Ionia wasn't true. She owns me! I...I don't know.

I need to stop summoning.

This I expressed to Sona during a chance meeting in the institute. It was cold, almost cruel of me to simply say it in that abrupt manner. But the world is cruel enough for is to exist together. I kept a good distance from her as I ranted along on the tiny veranda overlooking the gardens. It was early morning, not even sunrise. The light was a muted deep blue, obscuring our definitions. Sona doesn't fit this light very well. Few people were awake at this hour. Adhering to the cliche, my aching heart wouldn't let me rest. So I let it collapse right in front of her in a bleeding mess. Sona listened, closing her eyes in meditation. The etwahl floated silently behind her, deprived of Sona's impulsive idle plucking. The silence grounded a wall between us.

What surprised me was her reaction She made no effort to comfort me. Sona took her right hand and extended it daintily across her face, then wiped it back. A single slow methodical wave. Her expression was expertly subdued. Wouldn't be surprised if it was out of confusion. She backed off while looking at me. She did not pull her eyes away from mine until she turned a corner and was gone. Just like that.

Damn. That was, dare I say, real. Tangibly, overwhelmingly real. Directly rejecting her hurts like being dismembered.

I immersed myself in other duties around the Institute. Correspondence trips are always in full drive. I signed up for all the excursions available. Many of them were at least a week away, so that gave me time to finish up the required paperwork.

Still can't take my mind off of Sona. Especially her face from that morning. Was she angry? How could that be, I'm just another summoner among hundreds of others who converse with her every day.

Let's examine the logic behind my behavior. Does my skill at my job warrant me shoving her off so thoroughly? Summoning is my career! My profession! I studied past all my youth to work at the Institute.

And after a lifetime of experience...nothing to put on a plaque really. Positive testimonials from my clients across the board, but only in low profile matches. Sub par. Below average. When you're representing a poor farmer trying to hold his farm from some Demacian noble on the fields of justice, those words cut deep. These thoughts are incessantly depressing.

I was pulled out of my own head into reality by a strong breeze. There's a park next to the Institute, a big field dotted with trees. Mornings look just stunning here with the brightness. Along the trails into some wooded areas go lots of traffic. Lots of crows flitting and cawing around lately. Their calls compete with the songbirds. Could take it as a metaphor for inner conflict if I were so inclined. Didn't make the scenery any less tranquil.

Swain was out and about again, holding a public seminar on summoner strategy and tactics some distance away from the tree I'm currently sitting under. No good that'll do me. I recall going to several of them regularly throughout my stay in the Institute. I still have the hundreds of flashcards I made, listing protocols and maneuvers. All for a futile effort. I should sell them.

The crows are getting more active, flying in denser formations above the crowd. Getting a bit loud, but nobody seems to notice. Suddenly, a particularly large raven landed a few feet away from my foot. It stood with a tense regality. One of Swain's birds probably. It's holding a small package wrapped in brown paper in one of its claws. The raven cried loudly at my face, then hopped closer. I grasped the package with care. The raven quickly flew away, and I was left alone in this big empty expanse with someone's voice in my hands. I opened it right there.

The last time I saw an Innervating Locket was in the Journal of Justice, an article pronouncing the maker's death. It was shaped into a heart, carved from purple hued stone and embellished with silver trim. A simple crown emblem topped the front. I delicately traced my fingers around it searching for the latch.

The locket was pulsating with a familiar power. It was rich and sonorous yet rang strongly with guilt and grief. Probably handled roughly during the trip here. That's why the magic is acting up. Yet I can't recall why the artifact was decommissioned in the first place.

I opened it with reluctance. Obviously the locket signifies something profound and bothersome. Ugh, I'm not done shaking Sona off yet to fiddle with this purple heart thing dropping from the sky.

It's a note in place of the portrait. Funny. Reading it wouldn't hit me as hard as a picture right? The handwriting is very neat and flowing. Took some time writing this I bet.

"It would be a fruitless effort for me to try and bring you back to the institute. I have a concert in Zaun next week. You would find it enlightening. The choice is yours if you want to see me again. It would give me a chance to be candid with you."

...Sigh. This needs looking into. I have all these engagements. But what does she mean by giving up on her? She doesn't seem to be bothered by any loss of family or loved ones. We would have shared that grief together. Goodbyes should be very easy for Sona. And she has friends to keep things interesting right?

All of that was dead wrong, I discovered, when Swain himself took some time from his schedule to examine me after the seminar. For good reason. It would mean a lot to have a League champion like himself be tasked with delivering a package to some no-name summoner. The Noxian general noticed the locket in my hand as he stood over me. "Sona never was the one to keep secrets." he said solemnly. "Your ignorance of her past disturbs me greatly. I must remedy this immediately, seeing the woman has grown attached to you in this manner." Carefully, he sat next to me under the tree, paying mind to his leg. The dominating effect of his stare didn't follow him downward. "She's kept from you her human side in fear of getting too close. It something all the champions are practiced in. We are role models, paragons of our nations and races. To take this path is dangerous for both of you." I laughed (for longer than I should have) in part fear, part defiance, part desperation. Swain leaned forward. "That says you're sure you want to know. Frankly, I don't find any strategic advantage in courtship."

I'm making the trip now, to Zaun, by airship. The locket hangs by a chain on my neck. This next meeting will be a mutual hurdle, for both of us. I've talked much of affection in the past. Nothing more, nothing less. However, maybe the following rhetoric will examine a word infinitely more powerful than that.

Pastiche

Nah, not that one. I just never had the chance to write it on paper before. Get ready for it, the real word, here it comes, you'll never guess what it is...

Love


	6. The First Movement

The First Movement

Zaun is a place of ultimate freedom, some say. If freedom is supposed to smell like burning hair, all the more sweeter. You can feel the freedom burning your eyebrows as you walk the bustling streets. Among the maze of pipes, shacks and small stores that no map can emulate, people work to their own toils and little else. Wouldn't give them much time to dwell on what looks to be like a gigantic shimmering orange-gray vortex in the sky. That color one would associate with a dying sunset. However, there was no sun and it was eight in the evening.

As I was making my way to the venue for this concert, I passed a bronze statue of Singed, standing tall in full armor as champion of the league in the middle of a square. His expression let on no emotion as he looked toward a nonexistent horizon. I smiled and greeted him. It would be wrong to say I hate Singed. He gave me direction through my first years of summoning. Together, or I should say under him summoning was maddeningly fun. So rarely do I hear that word around the Institute, it's sad. If my mental fortitude were stronger, I think we would have been good friends. Really though, thats not saying I condone his crimes during the war. But putting that aside, he's got class. I wonder if he enjoys music as much as the rest of us.

Pentakill was the show that day. A pet project started by Mordekaiser a long long time ago, their music set off a new genre called 'metal'. Some summoners got real excited about it and started to make some crude drawings of Mordekaiser with a bare chest. And that's all I knew about the band until I saw a promotional poster before leaving for Zaun. All I could think about what I saw was,

Wow. How did Sona find that wig?

I guess there's much ground to cover between us. So much left unsaid. Should I tell her about the time I nearly crashed a horse drawn carriage into an orphanage? No joke, that scarred me for life.

In a darkened and ominous back alley, noticeably more dark and ominous than other back alleys, was a small slotted door backed up with people. The air was thick with youthful energy, the spark and crackle of ambitious spirit that fuels this progressive city. It smelled like a bleeding armpit.

Inside was Pentakill's venue. The air of paranoia was inescapable under those green floodlights. The room was relatively small to host a concert for any kind of music. A stage dominated most of the floor, only a single step high. No seats either. The audience was expected, I was told, to stand and mosh together in a crowd. I was surprised to find myself not fearful of this concept. It sounded more enriching than intrusive or harmful.

That couldn't be any further from the truth. I walked in with a clean robe, and the moment I started swimming through people somebody puked on my leg. After another two minutes, I had to smother my robe because a part of it burst into flames. As I examined it amongst the antsy crowd, I realized the cloth picked up a shimmering green ooze off the ground (later I learned that substance was a hallucinogen) so I promptly took it off.

When I finally reached the foot of the stage, my wardrobe underwent a Zaunite makeover. Smoldering holes perforated the lower half of my tunic, and the top was covered in green handprints. I felt dirty in a new sense of the word. The important thing, to a Zaunite, is that it's new.

The concert began with a large fuss. Mordekaiser appeared onstage from an elevator under the deck. Just like in the poster, his hard muscled chest was bare and accented with tribal tattoos. This more human image diminishes his intimidating aspects. Like that neat helmet. In his hands could be best described as a gigantic red axe turned into a stringed instrument like a lute. Does he slay people with it?

Yorick lazily grasped a more subtle version of Mordekaiser's. In place of

his leather cloak was a denim vest and a grimly adorned top hat which teetered on his head. He focused intensely on his instrument, visibly shutting out the crowd with his gaze locked downward.

Front and center came Karthus in a flamboyant and gruesome red cloak. His skeletal head was smeared with blue and white face paint. A wig of wild and flowing blue hair erupted from his cranium. Karthus held his noble and aloof stance as he floated toward the microphone.

With these characters before me, death seemed strangely exciting and assuring. But I didn't go there to die just that moment. Sona was to play with them, and I resolved to apologize for what I said. Even in the face of death...which didn't really mean any harm in the first place. That's beside the point!

Sona, in her measured grace, caught the audience and their passion. Picking up on this, she put on a seductive smile under her wicked eyes. Just like on the poster. Is this the true Sona? Am I pursuing this woman? All I could do is grip the locket on my chest. And wait, and listen.

Yorick strummed a stomping series of chords, deep and full of fearful burden. The crowd screamed in reverie. Mordekaiser followed with jagged overbearing notes which subjugated the crowd to jump and cheer to the quickening beat. The sound of these instruments can be best described as the essence of a beast's rage, the sheer force of its anger ripping and tearing a metallic string. Karthus grabbed the microphone and in his soprano voice screamed the title of their opening piece.

"Empire in Flames!"

Here's the first verse and the chorus:

Crushed in the dark  
>The city screams!<br>A king on his throne  
>Agony and despair he breeds!<p>

Frozen in fear  
>Short on his breath<br>A king on his throne  
>Waits for a slow death!<p>

The righteous prince  
>Rides in the dark!<br>Alone and weak  
>Searches for the spark!<p>

Fire and rage!  
>Burns the age!<br>Climbs the heights!  
>Lights the night!<br>Ceaseless and eternal  
>The hellfire inferno!<p>

It's a long narrative about how the prince finds a sorceress of fire and brings her back to the king and sabe the kingdom from darkness. The king steals her power and burns the entire city in a cataclysmic firestorm. Everyone dies. Great stuff.

Yorick and Mordekaiser masterfully shred sound through the air as the vibrant prince and the defiled king. Sona's etwahl was especially intriguing. The normally delicate tone of Sona's chords were amplified into searing expressions of passion which accompanied the metallic fury of the other two stings very well. In the last verse, the king clashes against the sorceress in a duel of grinds and riffs which really got Mordekaiser into it. In his solo bit the metal man devoted his entire being to violence in harmony.

Sona responded with sweeping wails and sharps. Her eyes were closed in intense focus as she strummed through staggering melodies which exploded and died like fireworks. I stood not caught under a spell, but ignited into flame, head banging with the crowd. Mordekaiser persisted, pressing harder and faster on the assault, absolute like an executioner. Now keeping pace with him, Sona overcame him in a primal rampage of rolling anger and spirit.

And then with a long chord, Mordekaiser silenced her. Now under the king's dominion, the fire exploded through both Sona and Mordekaiser in perfect synchronization. It immolated my eardrums and made me forget why I came to this concert in the first place. Yes, its very painful being near one of those gigantic speakers.

The pleasure of forgetting was short lived. As the music rang to a stop and the audience applauded with fervor, all I could do is stand in contemplation. Sona smiled weakly as the band took their ovation. They left through a backdoor near the stage.

Mordekaiser, Yorick and Karthus aren't the most social of champions. Pursuing Sona means confronting all three of them. Together, maybe even in the same room. Masters of death and undeath. Does Sona even like hanging out with them?

I'd like to think so. And if she can keep them in line, so can I.

Retrieving my robe, I snaked my way through the crowd and slipped into that same door. The hallway was dimly lit, around four feet wide. Small doors ran along the walls with signs on them. A shady figure in a sharply neat vest appeared next to me. He had a thin build and no hair. With a pair of glowing yellow eyes the man examined me. "Ah, a summoner." said he. "I almost flung you out of here on instinct, nobody allowed here without official business. Let me get these lights and..."

The lamps flickered on, and Singed appeared in a black vest and slacks, neatly worn over his bandages. I froze dumbfounded. The tension was so thick I could almost see it. Singed laughed at this. Slowly I sighed and put on a modest grin, accepting this reality with grace. I said hello.

"Hello" said he, all of a sudden disinterested in my presence. An awkward silence prevailed. I asked where Pentakill went. He stared off toward a door at the very end of the hall. "Through the door with the red sign. Don't go in just yet, they're changing."

I nodded and rested my back against the wall. Singed did the same. We looked at the door and waited for the band to emerge. After a few minutes I was debating if I should (could) ask him what he's waiting for. Thankfully Singed took the initiative.

"I am waiting for Pentakill just like you. This is what people do right? Congratulating the band?" I nodded in reply. He took a flask out of his vest pocket and folded down his bandages to drink. "What is your name, sir?"

Turning to him, I stared into his eyes and stated my own identity.

"Oh?" His interest was piqued slightly. "I remember you."

There was another period of silence.

"You are a stubborn fool to still be wearing those robes, after what you've made of yourself." said Singed said half-jokingly. "The worst summoner I've ever met."

I sighed and agreed in a low tone.

"And...the most tolerable."

Right on cue, the door burst open. Mordekaiser emerged first in his more traditional metal shroud. He stopped short of us on his way out. "Mordekaiser!" said Singed with genteel enthusiasm. "Welcome back to Zaun!"

"Yes." said Mordekaiser. "We are eternally drawn to the pestilence that afflicts your city. Zaun is blessed by our disease"

"Pentakill is always welcome. Your music embodies the Zaunite spirit wholly. "

Mordekaiser, after a brief exchange of their unusual pleasantries, relieved himself of Singed and bore his menacing gaze down onto myself. I gave him a reserved bow and a greeting.

Without a fit of unconsciousness, I remarked that the show was very enjoyable. The fear which clutched my chest did not escape my countenance. This required a superhuman strength-I'm not trying to boast here. Summoning him is an obstacle twice as large.

"I am puzzled as to why your ears are not bleeding at my very presence, summoner. But know that your tribute has been received."

I joked that he was just sending out good vibes.

"I recall a certain songstress making that same remark." Mordekaiser said with a weight on his voice. He strode out through a door leading out into the streets and was gone.

Shortly after Yorick emerged from the room, leather hooded cloak over his denim vestments and his hunched form. Behind his long hair and its shadow was an expression of accomplished fatigue. He smelled bad, but spending the better part of the day in Zaun prepared my nose for anything.

Grim on every word, Yorick greeted us with reluctance. "Best wishes to you." he said to nobody in particular.

If death is sleep, Yorick really is living the dream. He trudged out the exit with his lantern lit brightly.

Karthus floated out of the room with his regular shadowy vestments and his face clear of makeup. The air chilled immensely, like he had just opened the door to a blizzard. Singed appeared unfazed as he greeted the lich with a buffering forwardness. The exchange progressed quickly, almost in the same manner as Mordekaiser. Karthus gracefully crept through Singed's queries and reacted in concise yet earnest rasps. Mentions of Sona topped off the conversation. The lich began to float out toward the exit, but stopped to turn his cryptic gaze to me. His skull was fitted into a horrific frown.

"You." he pointed. "The one in deep consort with our Sona. She has told us much of your damaging actions."

It made sense that our relationship was not much of a secret, but hearing this confirmation from the deathsinger still impressed me with baseless fear. Kartus floated a little closer. "Her mental fortitude is impeccable; she has no use for companionship beyond Pentakill. That is why she is a champion of the League. You are nothing more than a savage and illogical wreck of a summoner." I stood my ground, somehow overcome with a need to give him a piece of my mind. Speaking may not have been my strong suit, but this was a critical moment. His robes flapping vicariously, Karthus looked down at me, expression unchanging. "Why do you pursue her still?" he demanded softly, without breath.

I closed my eyes and breathed, holding back a lump in my throat. The Innervating Locket began to pulse very strongly now, detecting something nearby. It was comforting, I felt connected to something familiar and empowering in my unconscious self.

I told him, plainly, with finality. As much as Sona and I both thought otherwise, through all the blissfully comforting moments we shared together, and the affection she has shown me in my suffering, it pains me to know that...

"I don't think I understand her."

I turned my head in contemplation, staring at the exit. My eyes ached. "With everything Sona has done for me, I owe her my life. But if things won't work, then I can at least give her this much-an understanding of her. That's why I'm here."

Karthus raised his head slowly, deliberately. His movements pointed to every emotion and none at all. Singed took out his flask and stared into it, searching for a feeling. The locket was still beating, to a slower tempo now. Thump, thump, thump…

Five notes were plucked to this beat, and then quickly stifled in afterthought. Sona was standing in the doorway watching. G sharp, G, G sharp, C, F. These are deciding notes, an invitation to solemn examination. Free of her grim black dress and wig, she was almost back to her old self. Her mouth was slightly open, and her hands were clasped over her chest. Those subtle high class chastities in her body language were gone. Her etwahl floated aside her thigh. The three of us turned to her.

Karthus bowed, motioned to leave, looked back at me and said "The choice is yours as much as it is hers, summoner. So too is the burden." He floated away promptly.

Singed nodded to both of us. Thoughtfully, he muttered "Yes, do that. Find out." before walking back the way we came.

And then silence. We stared at each other for another while longer, both of us locked together in this gaze. She really is beautiful. Her blue dress was slightly creased and worn. It's cut pretty low, revealing her delicate shoulders and chest. It's not modest at all. Her robe is a lighter blue with gold accents, wispy and flowing like her ponytails. Her hair falls over her right eye, adding to the seductive, mysterious, alluring quality of her face. Yet I feel also that its guarded in equal force. Sona keeps a well proportioned figure, overtly organic and natural. I realize that she wouldn't look half-bad painted in some abstract brushwork.

Sona finds the lock that binds us, and smiles with reservation. I smile back. She invites me into the modestly furnished room before sitting on a red couch, noticeably unused. I follow her in, putting ample space in between our bodies.

From a table in front of the couch, she produced a pen and a tablet of paper. She wrote and handed both tools to me.

"Hello."

I looked at her. She still wore her smile, unsure and absent of its seductive charm. I wrote a similar greeting.

"Hello, and thanks again. Your show was very memorable. Pentakill and the League has a great songstress in you."

As Sona read this, her smile faded. We were school children again, passing notes. But this is an acceptable pace for now. The silence can stay for a bit longer. I was still afraid.

For the first time in a very long time, we were both ready to experience something we hadn't tried yet. Dialogue. We sat side by side on the couch, passing back and forth that piece of paper, thinking very hard on what we would write. Sona did a good number on me with that endearingly downcast face. I struggled to look at her for more than a moment each glance. The maven handed me the paper delicately.

"I'm sorry I deceived you. Somehow it felt wrong to let you in on my past. I wanted to keep it out of the way, forget about the pain."

I sighed in deep thought before writing carefully.

"I'm sorry for being a fool who didn't care to ask. I was just a reckless cripple who ended up being a burden to you. Just something to be protected. I got frustrated and depressed. I wanted to show people that I could think for myself. But I'm still out of tune with the world. Anything I manage to think and communicate comes out wrong. Now I want to walk away from it all, go and disappear. Somehow I couldn't resolve to do even that. Always was a burden-to you especially."

Sona hesitantly wrote her response, a hint of shame in her eyes.

"You don't realize what an impact you've made on this Runeterra. Even within your limits, a great many people were touched by your efforts. Some you may have not even met."

"That's being optimistic." I said aloud. "A career...a life of failure isn't worth your time to fix."

Sona forcefully gave me a piercing stare. She looked into my very soul, as the cliché goes. My chest fluttered under her gaze. I bet she would be yelling right now. With expediency Sona looked downward and took the paper. Her motions were oddly fierce.

"You are no failure in any sense of the word. You are, to put it simply, a kind person. Believe it or not this sympathy, this empathy you and I share between us is powerful and sincere. That's the reason why I chose you. You were that someone-" Here she stopped writing and chanced a glance at me. "Someone I could share things with. "

I blinked, a conjecture coursing through my mind. On account of her being mute and a celebrity, she mustn't experience often the spontaneous aspects of a heart-to-heart conversation. Everything is measured and composed beforehand. People and ideas pass over her like she's invisible, running too fast to stop and listen, perhaps reluctant to even get that close. To her admirers she is a distant star, beautiful from a distance. We were alone. Both of us, in our own way.

Giving up some ambition to keep my distance, I shuffled over to her and handed her the paper with my reply.

"Why did you send me the locket? After all the pain I caused you?"

"Because you were a comfort to me." she wrote with a look of helplessness. I terribly miss hearing a voice. I want to measure her tone. "Remember our first time in that dark room? How our hearts beat as one? That was the first time I felt at home since my time with Lestara. She tapped into my being and showed me what speaking really is. After her passing I never experienced it until you came along."

A feeling of grief crept over me as I read. Sona's composure slowly deteriorated at the sight of my apparent resignation. I averted my eyes from hers and looked down at the floor for a long while.

"...That was the music overpowering me. Your enchantments." I said solemnly, unsure in thought. "I haven't the strength to comfort anyone ..."

"No!" Her inner voice burst out of her being, full of dread and anxiety. She felled her whole body weight on my frame and grabbed my shoulders forcefully while I instinctively rode into this motion. "Lestara was the only one who would accept me-the real me! Now she's gone, and while I made this life for myself, the hole is still there! If anything, I surrendered myself to you! I need you, just like you need me!" Silently, she breathed heavily as her telepathic voice ebbed into a painful moan. "Just stay with me. That's all I ask."

The gravity of this moment set in quick. I embraced her tightly, finally realizing how much I wanted to hear those words. That must be how we both made the summoning link moments earlier, by sheer force of will. Slowly, I distanced my mind from my physical self in rings of blue energy. With the last of my nerve I let my hand lift Sona's face from my chest. Her tears were dried off thanks to my robe, and her eyes were deep and expectant. I finally did it, I found my star and I won't let her fall again.

I whispered to her weakly the summation of all our endearment.

"I hear you."

Sona closed her eyes and breathed, smiling more earnestly than I've ever seen her smile before. She began to tear up again. "Now, let's get started." she whispered. "We'll go the whole way this time, no secrets. Keep me close. Just like this."

It's not like I can promise forever. Mortality will see to that. But for as long as I possibly can, her light won't ever be far from mine. A song began to emanate from the etwhal beside her as our faces drew closer. The melody rang with sweet conclusion, a swinging emulation of swaying grass under a starlit night. It encircled us and caressed our souls in a soothing finality as our minds converged completely, coupled with equal parts joy and pain, in a dance of exploration. But this does not imply an end to our struggle for understanding. With a long delicate kiss, and a duet of intimate exploration afterwards, we made our first steps toward a future of progress, our new song and dance, the reemergence onto a brighter, grander stage, waltzing forward one step at a time, rocking across the limitless sky to the slow beat of her etwahl.


	7. Epilogue: They just started talking

The sound of Sona's breathing was all there was to take in as I awoke. Her flowery scent and the senstion of her backside against my chest veiled the outside world more completely than any dream. I could linger here for a long while, but then nothing would change. There would be no dance, no music. So I resolved to get to waking her up, shifting my arm over her shoulder and running a hand over her cheek. Slowly, her breathing became more audible. She sighed heavily. The link between our minds washed over us shortly after. At first, there was nothing. I knew she wouldn't allow any words this time. Then came a soft note from her etwahl which sat on a distant table which sounded miles away from the couch. I echoed that note in my mind, and responded with a series of five more taken from my own imagination. Sona rolled to face me, eyes still closed. I could feel through my palm still caressing her face that she was smiling. So this sequence continued back and forth. Just notes in our head. To know that I could sing with her, finally, with mutual effort. Tears flowed down onto the red fabric of the couch. We had crafted a song that morning, and by three days time it was heard by an audience in Demacia where we first met. This song and the many others composed in our collaboration are proof to the world that we are alive together.

Along my travels as one of the League's Foreign Correspondants I hear whispers, rumors of the identity of Sona's secret lover, across all of Valoran. Some say he is a sightless man who fell victim to Sona's entangling song. Others say he is a chivalrous bard that swept Sona off her feet long ago and has returned to save her from the depths of despair. In truth he is and is not both of these things. To put it simply, he is a summoner who she met after a concert. And they just started talking.


End file.
